[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
.Instead, more subtle anxieties kept her awake: the business, the family, how she would arrange a suitable funeral for Margaret.She lay on her side, rigid with tension, checking her bedside clock every hour.It seemed as if she’d only just fallen asleep when the alarm went off.Usually she served breakfast from seven, but when she’d checked in Vera had asked if she might take it early: ‘Cereal and toast will be fine.I don’t want to put you to any trouble.’ There had been a wistful edge to her voice, though, and Kate hadn’t had Vera down as a healthy eater, so she’d had bacon and sausage under the grill just in case, eager to please.She’d always been eager to please – part of her problem.If she’d gone into her marriage deciding what she’d wanted from the relationship, instead of trying to guess what would make Robbie happy, perhaps things would have worked out better.She’d certainly made Vera Stanhope happy.The woman had cleared her plate in minutes and beamed.‘I’m supposed to be watching what I eat these days, but no harm in a treat once in a while, eh?’ There’d been no more questions about Margaret.No mention at all of the murder.The inspector had paid her bill in cash and, when Kate had offered her a receipt, she’d waved it away.‘Not the police service’s fault that I live out in the wilds.Can’t really get this one on expenses.’ Then she was out of the door with a little wave, and Kate had felt inexplicably bereft.A repeat of the sensation that had overcome her when she’d realized that Margaret was dead.George Enderby arrived in the dining room at eight on the dot.He might like to come across as a free spirit, but Kate had noticed that he was a great one for routine.A pot of coffee and poached eggs on brown toast.The order was always the same.She was clearing his dishes when the kids left the house for school.Through the window she watched Ryan idling up the street, his heavy bag weighing down one shoulder.No hurry to get to his lessons.He seemed more eager to help Malcolm Kerr out in the yard these days than to get to class.Chloe left a few minutes later.Further up the street she was joined by a lad Kate didn’t recognize.‘Where are you off to today, George?’ She turned her attention back to the room.His wheelie suitcase of books was already sitting at the bottom of the stairs.‘Into Newcastle.’ He smiled a little sadly.‘A challenge.It’s hard to get booksellers interested in our titles for spring when everyone’s mind is on Christmas.’‘That police inspector stayed last night.She couldn’t get home because of the weather.’‘Oh?’ He was suddenly interested.She thought, now that the shock had worn off, they were all interested in Margaret’s death.It was like a television drama.Even the kids, who had been pleasant and careful with each other the evening before, seemed back to normal, sniping and bickering.‘She left an hour ago.She didn’t say anything about the investigation, of course.I suppose they have to be discreet.’ Kate wiped crumbs from a neighbouring table with a napkin into her cupped hand.‘Yes,’ George said.‘I suppose they do.’Later, when the house was quiet and tidy, she sat on the sofa in the kitchen and dozed a little; a new folk band recommended by Stuart was playing in the background and the voices sounded somehow like waves on shingle, blurred and soporific.She was shocked by the ringing on the doorbell.The detective had said that some officers would be in during the morning to search Margaret’s room.This was a piece of information she hadn’t passed on to George Enderby.His eagerness to discuss Margaret’s death had seemed a little tasteless to her, and unlike his usual courtesy.Now she supposed that the search team must be here and she rushed to let them in.She didn’t want Father Gruskin and his coven of elderly admirers to see a group of uniformed officers on the doorstep.Rumours spread like wildfire in Mardle.But there were no policemen in the street.Instead it was Malcolm Kerr, the boatman.Sometimes Ryan helped him out in the yard for pocket money, and from her son she’d picked up snippets of gossip about his divorce, and the move from the big house in Warkworth to the ex-council place on Percy Street.His skin was very grey.He’d shaved badly and his eyes seemed yellow and bloodshot all at once.Because he’d stepped back onto the pavement their faces were on the same level and she noticed the whiff of stale alcohol on his breath.‘Malcolm.’ She didn’t invite him into the house.Although she didn’t know him well herself, he had a reputation for being an awkward customer – taciturn, always moaning.Her first thought was that Ryan had done something to annoy him.She’d always thought Malcolm liked having him hanging around the yard, but Ryan had become a mystery to her.‘It’s about Margaret,’ he said.‘Can I come in?’ And he quickly moved up the steps towards her so that her immediate reaction was to move out of his way before he knocked into her.Then he was in the house.She took him into the guest lounge, because it was nearer the front door; somehow she felt better speaking to Malcolm if she knew she could escape.Something about this man, intense and frowning, scared her.His yard had been on Harbour Street since before she’d moved in, for many years, she believed.He was a fixture like the church and the pub.He’d taken over from his father as boatman to Coquet Island and he’d been coxswain of the lifeboat until recent years.Stalwart of the town.Grumpy, but reliable.She’d never really taken any notice of him.Now she wondered if he was suffering from some sort of mental illness.‘What do you want, Malcolm?’ He was a good distance from her in a corner by the fire.She kept her voice calm.It was important not to make him angry.‘It’s about Margaret.’‘If you know anything about Margaret you should tell the police.’ She added, a sudden inspiration: ‘They’ll be here soon.They want to search her room [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]